Too Early To Tell
by The Huntress1
Summary: How I envisioned Superman and Lois reconciling after the end of "Superman Confidential #1." This was written long before Cooke's "Krytopnite" storyline came to its admittedly tender conclusion.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Superman, Lois Lane or anything else under the DC Comics' bullet. If I did, I wouldn't have ruined the Batverse…or, Paul Dini would be performing the necessary resuscitation. But that's an argument for another day. An imaginary happening between the Man of Steel and Lois after the end of Superman Confidential #1 by Darwyn Cooke and Tim Sale.**

Lois at dawn:

_You know, I'm not even sure what color his eyes really are. You'll forgive me for not paying close enough attention, the city whipping past you at over four hundred feet tends to take up the senses. Even if you are in his arms. Even if he's he Man of Steel._

You know, I don't remember if I've ever seen him vulnerable. No, that's not the word for it. He was hurt_. As though I had pierced something in his soul. I actually wanted to comfort him somehow, or something. Instead I stared dumbly into those unknowable eyes, at his arms hanging limp by his sides. If he was closer I might have caressed his cheek._

In the back of my mind one thing repeated itself over and over...He saw you kiss Tony.__

It was just a smooch, and at that, only on the cheek. Yet somehow I feel as though he'd found me and stood me naked in the street for all to see. I didn't know I could hurt you this simply. Changes the course of mighty rivers, bends steel in his bare hands and wilts at the sight of his girl kissing someone else.

But I'm not his girl am I? I was Lois before he came along, and I'll be Lois after. It's like the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's when Paul pleads that Holly belongs to him. Can you imagine that? Pleading for possession? Appealing to the baser instincts of a woman in order that she might submit herself to your whims?

Placing my hands on my hips, trying to hold up the tough girl routine, I invited him in for a bite to eat. He hung there, unsure and unsafe in his own indecision. Finally he relented, landing without a sound and followed me in from the balcony.

I made him scrambled eggs with a touch of milk in order to fluff them up. He ate without a word. He didn't explain his missing our date last night nor why he should feel so betrayed to see that I wasn't waiting up for him. And isn't that secretly what he wants after all? Someone to wait around to tuck him in at night? Oh, maybe I just jumping to the defensive. I don't really have a right. He didn't do anything that he wasn't supposed_ to do. He missed our date, no doubt out saving the world from certain destruction, and he came to—I assume—apologize. Or make some sort of peace. There was fear in his eyes, deeply restrained, but fear nonetheless. Supposing things went badly on his end? Couldn't I have been there to assure him somehow?_

God, that doesn't sound like me. Am_ I me anymore? It feels as though my thoughts are being supplanted by something else._

I watch him finish and wipe his mouth. He pushes the plate away, eyes aimed anywhere but here. I ask him if he's tired.

He shakes his head No, but I'm sure I know better. Lifting him I guide him toward my bedroom. His eyes open wide and that strange brand of fear returns. I shake my head, "Don't jump to conclusions pal, this isn't going where you think_ it's going."_

He doesn't appear to relax. In fact, I would say he gets worse. His shoulders tense and a distant thought crosses my mind: Maybe he's never been in a woman's bedroom. It seems unlikely but he grows more and more nervous by the second.

I excuse myself and going behind the changing fan, slip out of my suit and into a negligee and robe. He hovers near the perimeter of my room, glancing every so often at the large windows like a caged bird. Lifting my hair from beneath my collar I cross the room and take his hands into my own. They're trembling.

Leading him to the bed, I guide him down until his head rests against my pillows. His eyes stare straight forward and his lips are clenched tight. I imagine his teeth are doing much the same.

Kneeling next to him, I reach over to my bedside light and switch it off. There we stay. I don't move and neither does he. Eventually however, his breathing grows more even and leaning over, I place my ear next to his heart. There is a sound there I'll never get tired of hearing.

Stretching out at his side, I don't lay my head on his chest. I withdraw my hands and folding them together, place them beneath my cheek. Then I just watch him as the sun rises.


End file.
